Intentions
by The Devil's Right Hand
Summary: 'Looking at her battered, broken, and hollow self... Mudblood. The word rang through his head before he could stop it.' Hermione, aided by an unlikely source, strives to recover physically and emotionally after a Dark Lord sympathizer breaks her apart.


-Intentions- 

* Prologue *

"Princess!"

The name was called by a voice that was deceptively light, but obviously impatient. Hermione did all that she could not to cringe at the title before she made her face impartial and turned around to face him in the narrow hallway. The only source of light was an open door a few feet away, and the shadows were very pronounced on his face.

"What is this?" the man asked her with a scowl and a voice that was still quiet, but beginning to show signs of an underlying fury. In his hands were a pair of ripped pajamas. At Hermione's silence, he backhanded her in the face before repeating his question at a higher decibel.

"Your pajama bottoms," Hermione stated in what she hoped was a monotone voice. It was difficult because her lip was bleeding, her mouth was full of blood from where her teeth had scrapped against the sides of her cheeks, and all she felt like doing was crawling into a corner and dying.

The man's eyes narrowed. "Stating the obvious, as usual, princess," he snarled, before he grabbed a chunk of her hair and proceeded to throw it against the pale blue wall. He stared unflinching as her head made a dull thud against the painted plaster and shoved the ripped cotton in her face. "What happened?" he asked again, unnecessarily stressing each syllable.

Hermione fought to breath as her head began to pound and the man in front of her began to press himself harder against her body. "You ripped them," she cried out truthfully as he pulled her hair with sharp tugs. At her admittance, the man froze, then became violent.

"I what?" the man growled, before he shoved her onto the hard-wood floor and straddled her waist. "I ripped them? Princess, I didn't do anything!" he snapped and then slapped her several times across the face. Hermione struggled against him, withering under his form and reaching up to strike him. He caught both pale wrists in one hand and held them above her head.

"As much as I love your spirirt, luv, it's about time you showed me some respect," the man snarled. He began to rip at her clothing with his other hand, tearing away the layers of her dress until there was nothing left. Hermione began to panic, taking hyperventilating breathes and wiggling helplessly underneath him. The man began to grin.

"Miss Hermione Granger isn't so powerful without her bloody wand, is she?" the man stated rhetorically while beginning to manically chuckle as he threw his body on top of hers to stop her from moving. His hand began to travel across her skin, from her neck down the valley between her breasts and ending right underneath her navel. It lingered there, teasingly, for a few minutes before it traveled down those last few inches and plunged inside her.

She moaned loudly, and her traitorous body arched up to meet his. The man's grin widened.

He began to massage the area almost gently with his fingers, stroking until his fingers were slick with her wetness. He drew his fingers out of her one at time, enjoying her lust induced glazed eyes as her body followed his fingers almost desperately. He plunged them back inside and repeated the process. Hermione began to pant.

This continued for a few minutes as the man watched, with something close to patience as the woman underneath him came to again and again with his ministrations. Slowly, the man let go of her hands, and was filled with smug satisfaction as they immediately began to unzip his pants and shove them down his legs. Her small fingers grabbed the length of him and began to stroke. The man gasped, one hand digging into her again and the other grasping and massaging her breasts.

They both groaned simultaneously in pleasure.

Suddenly the man was filled with a need that was blinding, and shoving her hands away with impatience, thrust inside of her. She gasped in surprise, but the man was disappointed that that was all she did. His agitation growing, he thrust into her again and again without mercy. She had yet to make a word. The man decided that action needed to be taken.

"No," he gasped, before coming out of her slowly, making them both tremble. "You're just a filthy Mudblood," he asserted into her ear with a cruel smile. Hermione visibly winced and loathing washed through her. Not at the man who was still holding himself, watching her through a leer, but at herself. At her stupid body that was bringing itself up to meet him with a sick sort of anxiety.

But she had yet to yell, or scream, or curse the heavens out of him. The man, suddenly aware how easy it had been to rile her up just a few months ago, cursed himself.

"Why don't you fucking scream already!" he called out in frustration before he struck her ribs and thrust into her cruelly. As that failed to do anything, he put as much of one of her breasts in his mouth as possible and sucked. She moaned, loudly, but it wasn't a scream. Sucking some more, he brought his teeth around it and bite down, hard. She screamed.

Suddenly complacent, the man breathed in relief, and sucked up the blood around the breast and her screams as he continued to thrust into her. His attention moved to the over breast.

Hermione, now completely aware of his intentions, tried to push the man away with her hands. He merely grabbed them again and held them above her head. With satisfaction he realized that this pushed her breasts up and made them more accessible. Smirking, he caught the other breast in his mouth and began to suck.

Ignoring Hermione's sharp intake of breath, he licked and prodded the breast with his tongue until it was all perky and upstanding on its own. Only then did he cover his mouth with it and bite down again. Her screams once again in his ears, he licked up the blood and began to climax.

Plunging into her again and again at an ever faster rate, he climaxed before she did, and pulled out of her without further ado. She clung to him desperately, but he pushed her down and watched as she began to writhe with dissatisfaction and discontent. He smirked again and pressed his bloody lips to her cool, chapped ones in a brief kiss.

Standing up, he looked down at her naked frame still smirking. Slowly he began to backstep and watched with amusement as Hermione had a battle of wills, her mind commanding that she not move, her body demanding release. They reached a compromise as Hermione's own fingers went inside of her and stroked desperately. Her climax came quickly, but Hermione was still left with discontent, and could not help but frown as she lay panting on the floor.

The man watched Hermione attempt to satisfy herself with glee, and did not even bother pulling up his pants as he left the room. Hermione began to mentally count down minutes as she started to control her breathing. By the time she had reached three he was back in the room, another angry snarl on his face. His pants were fixed and there was water on his face.

"Why Hermione?" he screamed at her still form on the hard-wood floor. "Why do I lust after someone as filthy as you?" he came forward, his hands shaking and his eyes blood-shot. Hermione realized with dread that he had just shot himself up with whatever drug concoction he had in his room, and would be even more unpredictable. She would have to play it smart if she was to survive this one.

At her silence the man swiftly crossed the room, and only staggering slightly, began to kick her hard. "Why?" he howled, beginning to stomp her instead hoping that it would be more effective.

Hermione could no longer breath, and began to shake in fear. As the kicks continued she could _feel _herself begin to bruise badly, and after a sharp crack filled the room couldn't resist the tears that feel down her cheeks in streams. As sobs began to shake her thin frame, the strikes finally began to lessen.

The man gazed down at the wretched woman on the ground disturbed but at the same time malcontent. He dropped down on his hunches, picked the woman up by her hair, and grabbed her chin forcing her to look at him. "Why?" he asked, his voice barely above that of a whisper.

Hermione could not do anything but whimper pathetically. Whatever plan she had previously mashed together in her brain had been torn to shreds by the pain that now encompassed her entire body. Shaking in uncontrollable spasms, she waited for the inevitable.

"Fucking Mudblood," the man finally announced after searching her eyes for a few minutes for answers. Finding none, he let out his frustration by standing with her chin still in his hand, and drop-kicking her in the face. Hermione dully felt the floor underneath her before her world went black.

The man above her watched as Hermione passed out, and finally content, left the room to shoot himself up again.

_Eighteen hours later_

Hermione watched the man breath calmly on the disheveled bed, blissfully ignorant. The cool wood of the fire axe she had found less than a week ago hidden in the confines of their basement gave her an odd sense of comfort, content, and security, like a home was supposed to. She stroked the polished handle, her mind running over the plan she had devised, checking for loopholes. She found none.

Slowly, she approached the bed. Her hand moved from the handle to the blade. The metal was cooler than the wood was, and presented another comfort on this unusually warm night. She stood next to the tousled covers for a few minutes, soaking up the silence, and the courage she needed to exact her plan.

Then, as swiftly as she would bring a knife down to cut meat, Hermione brought the blunt of the handle down on top of the man's head. He woke up almost instantly, and although obviously confused, sat up and reached out in the air wildly. Hermione brought the wood down on his head again and again until he fell back on to the bed. She was very proud of herself. There was no spilled blood.

The next part of her plan required that she move quickly. Now was not the time to dawdle, and not the time to daydream. Now was the time for action. For the man was not dead- not that he did not deserve death, but Hermione could think of no greater pleasure than watching him suffer while she still had the opportunity to walk free.

Azkaban. How many nights had she stayed up thinking about the place? It didn't take long for her to figure out that she would rather commit suicide and rot in hell than rot in that hellhole. Especially now, as the prison was full of people who had committed war crimes. People who had been death eaters, but unable to pay the ministry off. Hermione didn't fancy what her welcome to their ranks would be, especially for something as serious as murder.

No, Hermione had long ago decided to wait until the opportunity struck where she could set herself free. Tonight had been that night.

She ran through the house in her cleanest dress on the most direct path she could take to the front entrance. Then, without further ado, began to hack at the expense mahogany wood with the blade mercilessly. The solid wood door began to give under way after several minutes of chopping, and Hermione ignored the stinging muscle pain in her arms and wrists filled with the anticipation of fresh air.

It had been more than two years. Two entire years she had been trapped in this house with that horror of a man. That alone was a testimony to his wit, his foresight, and his cunning. Every plan she had devised, every weapon she had hidden had been found and destroyed. His room, and hers, was always locked before he went to bed. She was not allowed any utensils other than a spoon. Her wand... she couldn't even think about her wand.

He reminded her of his dominance, of her hopelessness, every chance he got, thinking it would break her to bits. It did. She was destroyed.

He didn't understand, however, that destroying a person did not take away their will to live. Maybe for themselves. But Hermione did not live for herself- she stopped living for herself months ago. No, Hermione lived for him. The man she was determined to make suffer. And it was that determination that got her bruised, broken, mangled body the strength to axe her way through a solid door. It was the drive that gave her the speed she needed to run away from that house, away from him. It was because of the ugly thirst for vengeance that she now found herself at a familiar red telephone booth.

She didn't think as she automatically pressed the correct digits, and didn't allow herself to feel any content after the same cool female voice stated, "Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business."

Hermione answered solemnly in a hoarse voice, "Hermione Granger here to see a representative from the Department of Law Enforcement."

"Do you have a scheduled meeting?" the voice inquired.

"No, I intend to walk in," Hermione answered, feeling more and more tired as the initial adrenaline rush began to wear out.

"You are aware that business hours are from seven in the morning to five at night?" the voice asked impassively.

"Yes, I intend to wait in the lobby," Hermione stated with a growing sense of anxiety and impatience.

"Very well. Visitor, please take the badge and attach it to the front of your robes," the voice stated as a badge slide out of the metal chute saying _Hermione Granger, Department of Law Enforcement _on it. Hermione grabbed it absentmindedly.

"You are required to submit to a search and present your wand for registration at the security desk located at the far end of the Atrium," the voice continued, and the battered booth shook violently for a second before it began to slowly sink into the ground. It was only until the very top of the glass from the telephone box was covered that Hermione allowed herself to sink into the floor of the booth.

She was worried about the man. Would he come after her? How long would he be knocked out? He was the only unpredictable part of her plan. If he managed to catch her before she could find someone to help her... But that is why she came to the Ministry. Even if it was at four in the morning. Someone had the be here- someone.

Unless- what if the man would never get up? What if she had bashed him one to many times and accidentally killed him? Hermione began to fret, and twisting her hands nervously at the end of her dress felt anxiety begin to pool up inside of her.

Stop, Hermione ordered herself, before scoffing silently. That man couldn't die- he was like a cockroach incarnate. It would only be a matter of time before he followed her here. She had to hurry.

"The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant day," the voice said as the doors opened. Immediately Hermione noticed the fountain, which was back to its former splendor. After that she realized that she was encompassed in silence.

She ran behind the fountain, towards the rows of fireplaces and elevators all the way to the far end of the Atrium. The security desk was empty. She was alone.

Hermione sank to the floor. All of that planning. All of that stress. All of the beatings... Tears began to pour down her cheeks and dry heaves gradually turned into full on sobs as Hermione stared forlornly at the security officer's desk. Why was life so unfair? Why did she have to be in this mess? She never stole candy from small children. Why was God punishing her?

She had been there for several minutes before she realized she heard footsteps approaching. Immediately she stopped crying and began to desperately scoot herself back until her back hit the wall of the security desk. She looked to the man approaching with obvious fear and despair... Until he came into the light.

"Drr... Draco Mm... Mal... Malfoy?" Hermione asked with wide eyes, before she promptly once again burst into tears. Draco's eyes narrowed in confusion, and he hesitantly approached the obviously hysterical girl. It wasn't until he was closer that he realized what sort of condition she was in. Her entire face was black and blue, there was a hitch every now and again in her sobs that indicated possibly a few broken ribs, and the dried blood on her already dirtied head... The dress she wore was large on her thin frame, and was a faded yellow that was ripped in several places and covered with filth. Everything the dress didn't cover was as colored as her face.

"Bloody Merlin," Draco stated in alarm, before kneeling in front of the girl. She was looking at him with red-rimmed wide brown eyes filled fear, desperation, and... hopelessness. He felt a twinge in his stomach at the sight that forced him to ask "What's going on? Who are you? Who did this to you?"

He noticed the name badge she had clutched in her right hand, toke her hand from her, and began to gently pry her fingers back. Hermione's sobs quieted, and she stared at him in obvious alarm, confused at the concern in his face, and ashamed that he was about to find out... but she didn't have the strength to protect herself. She needed help. She had nothing worthy of pride. Thus, she realized, she had no pride. Even now. Because all that was left was an empty bitter shell filled with stupid revenge.

His brows immediately furrowed as he read the name, and he looked back at Hermione in alarm. "Hermione Granger?" Draco asked in trepidation, still holding her hand. His eyes widened. "What happened to you?" he whispered.

She didn't answer, but looked at him silently.

Draco stood slowly, aware of the wariness in her eyes. She was not at all like the girl he remembered. The proud gryffindor, the bushy head know-it-all, the annoying bookworm- she was none of that now. Looking at her battered, broken, and hollow self... _Mudblood_. The word rang through his head before he could stop it. It was true though- she looked exactly as he had always imagined one would look like. A person without the courage to stand up for themselves, a person without the will to speak up for themselves, and a person without the reserve and resources to help themselves when they really needed it. She had let herself fall.

She was pathetic.

But, Draco had to remind himself, she wasn't born this way. Something had broken her down until there was almost nothing left. Unbidden, an odd sense of curiosity and pity welled inside him, and he had to stop himself from asking questions. Now was not the time to pry, he told himself. She desperately needed help from... someone. It seemed that person would be him today.

Did he mind? Sure there were questions buzzing through his head, like, "Where the fuck is Potter?" He didn't mind, though. It had been years since he had allowed his father's influence to override reason to the point where muggleborn's disgusted him. It helped that year after year the witch in front of him proved just how much potential any one person could have, regardless of blood.

Well not now. But he could see just how much Gryffindor courage she had left after they went to the hospital.

Still holding her hand, he gently pulled her up next to him. She stood silently. "You need a doctor," he stated, staring down at her small frame. She nodded. "Do you need help walking?" he asked, growing worried from her lack of response. She nodded again. He took that as permission to let go of her hand and wrap it gently around her waist, helping her to stand. They silently made their way to the fireplace.

Footsteps and a loud voice stopped them.

"Wait!" a man called out, breathing heavily. Hermione cringed at the sound of his voice, and felt her entire body tense. Draco noticed, and warily turned to face the man while tightening his grip on the girl at his side.

When the man finally reached him, Draco was surprised at how unremarkable the man's appearance was. Sandy blonde hair that was more brown than blonde, small dark eyes, and standard black wizarding robes. He was bent over panting, attempting to catch his breath, making his large frame obvious. Still, he seemed one of those people you had a difficult time remembering even after you had been introduced to them several times.

After a minute or so the man finally straightened, and eyeing the hold Draco had on Hermione with distaste, took a step closer to the pair. "You don't need to take her anywhere. I can take her home with me," the man asserted somewhat forcefully.

"And who are you exactly?" Draco asked through pursed lips.

"Brandon Mackledowny," the man stated, before his eyes narrowed and he continued, "Her fiance."

"Really?" Draco asked with obvious surprise, before looking down on the ring finger on Hermione's left hand. There _was_ a small ring there. Interesting. He turned to look at Hermione, whose face was so full of disgust and self-loathing that Draco once again became intrigued. Hermione noticed he was looking at her, and looking from him to her fiance her face filled with the fear and despair which had consumed her features when he had first found her. He could only guess that she figured that he would just hand her over.

Draco resisted the urge to sigh, before turning back towards the man. "Well, then, as her fiance you should be aware that she is in serious need of immediate medical attention." Brandon's eyes glinted with a subtle intelligence at the statement, and Draco frowned.

"She has medical attention available at _our_ house," Brandon emphasized unpleasantly, before taking another step closer. "You see," he continued, "Hermione here has recently been unfortunate enough to suffer from a serious mental illness which causes her to abuse herself. We have a medic who visits our house occasionally to assist her as much as possible, but... it is impossible to do when she runs away." With this last statement the man turned to look at Hermione with a glare that gave Draco a good impression of the man's temper.

"Wouldn't she be better cared for at a hospital, then, if her illness is so serious? Surely you don't have immediate access to sedatives that could be necessary if an episode got too horrible?" Draco asked. The man's smirk at his questions was answer enough.

"The hospital agreed that staying in a place where she was comfortable and familiar would have a soothing effect on her psychologically and might actually help her with her disease," Brandon stated, before one of his hands grasped Hermione's elbow in a grip hard enough to bruise.

Draco broke the grip, and pulling Hermione behind him while still supporting her weight stated sarcastically, "And how noble of you to stay with your fiance through such harsh conditions. I can't imagine that it has been very easy for you."

Hermione relaxed a little at his side after he stated that, and Draco felt the oddest urge to chuckle.

"The things one does for love," the man stated impassively, before making another lunge for Hermione. Draco blocked the attempt with his forearm, causing his shirt sleeve to move down just far enough that a bit of the Dark Mark began to show through. The man stopped suddenly, staring at it. He looked back up at Draco and asked, "Draco Malfoy?" in an incredulous voice.

Draco nodded hesitantly, obviously disturbed.

Brandon grew excited. Hands fidgeting, he asked in an asinine whisper, "Are you still part of the cause?"

"What?" Draco asked incredulous.

"Do you still follow the Dark Lord?" Brandon reiterated with glee, coming closer to Draco's face.

Draco had to stop the revulsion that was threatening to overcome his face. The Dark Lord? The one that's been dead for four years? Draco looked briefly past Brandon's head to the long, empty halls of the Ministry. And the man was foolish enough to announce an allegiance to him in the Ministry of Magic. He looked back at Hermione's deranged fiance and answered, "This is hardly the place to discuss such delicate matters."

Brandon nodded enthusiastically, before offering, "My house is not far from here if you are willing to walk with me and discuss it there." He smiled, and gestured for Draco to hand Hermione over to him.

Draco's grip on the girl remained firm as he eyed the man warily. So Hermione was engaged to a deranged lunatic who fancied himself a Death Eater, and said lunatic was inviting him into his home? He mentally shrugged. Stranger things have happened.

"Of course. Feel free to lead the way," Draco answered nonchalantly.

The man's eyes once again narrowed. "My fiance?" Brandon asked impatiently.

Draco muttered a curse in a tone too low for the man to hear and Hermione dropped to the floor unconscious behind him. He sprung away from her body in mock surprise and stated, "She fainted." He had to stop himself from smirking when Brandon cursed loudly, but stopped the man as he came forward to kick Hermione's unmoving body. "Allow me," he insisted, and whipping out his wand from his sleeve stated, "Mobilicorpus."

Hermione's body began to levitate behind them as if wrapped in invisible strings, and Draco gestured in front of him vaguely while looking at the man expectedly. Brandon nodded in approval, before heading towards the telephone booth, which had remained on the bottom floor.

The walk to Brandon's house was a quiet one. Both men seemed to be preoccupied by their thoughts. Draco couldn't even imagine what was going on in Brandon's head- so far the man proved to be unpredictable in a fairly dangerous way. Draco, of course, was thinking about Hermione and the situation she seemed to have put herself in.

Stupid, stupid girl. Now that Draco actually thought about it, he hadn't heard a word about Granger from anyone for years. There was no mention of her in the press, and her friends said nothing... Very unusual. He wondered why he never noticed before. Probably because he didn't care. Even now, he wouldn't give a damn if she jumped off something...

Her condition did leave a lot of unanswered questions, though, that he found he _did_ care about. It wasn't as if he believed a word of the shit Brandon was feeding him. Hermione Granger had never not been in control of herself. If her ridiculously rigid study habits and aversions to parties and the press said anything, she was a woman who enjoyed her privacy, and who enjoyed being in constant control of her surroundings. He highly doubted she had become mentally ill- besides being frightened as a mouse, she seemed cognitively able.

No, those were just excuses that left very clearly the reason for her appearance. Obviously the man walking nonchalantly in front of him felt the need to show a little abuse now and again. But why? And why Granger? What made her so special, or in this case, not so special?

They made a sudden left and Draco found himself standing in front of what once had been a solid and expensive wood door. A majority of the frame remained, but there was a large hole towards the middle and the side, and wood pieces and shavings everywhere. In the midst of the pile was an innocuous looking axe. Draco looked towards Brandon questionably.

Brandon let out an aggravated sigh, and muttered, "The escape weapon." Draco became surprised. The only good reason a witch would need to hack at a doorway is if she didn't have a wand. Surely if she was escaping she could have just grabbed it? Perhaps Brandon put it somewhere unreachable, but even then...

Other than the crumbling doorway, the house was the very example of perfection. The decorations were modest, but appealing, and all of the colors blended very well with each other. As far as cleanliness goes, it looked as if it had been polished by house elves. Immaculate.

As they entered the living room, Draco directed his wand to the couch and Hermione fell down into the cushions. He muttered the spell that would awaken her and prayed to god that she wouldn't do anything stupid. She just lay there, as still as she had been before. Draco turned to face Brandon. "You were saying?" he asked, and seated himself on an armchair.

Brandon turned and sat down on the armchair opposite his, before rubbing his hands together in front of him in anticipation. "The Dark Lord?" he prompted with a smirk.

"Ah, yes," Draco stated, before leaning back in the chair in apparent ease. His expression became one of wry amusement. "From your earlier statement I gather you are an... active member?" Draco asked wryly, once again feeling the urge to chuckle. As if following the Dark Lord had been some kind of book club.

"I try to be whenever possible," the man responded earnestly.

"I don't remember you becoming a Death Eater," Draco stated with a raised brow.

"No, I was initiated through friends. That does not make me any less loyal to the cause, though!" Brandon asserted with urgency, leaning forward slightly in his chair with clasped hands.

"So I see. And what, if you don't mind me asking for clarification purposes, is the cause?" Draco questioned, folding his hands together on his lap.

"Pureblood supremacy. The eradication of all muggles and mudblood. Complete control," the man announced with obvious pride.

Draco's brow raised in surprise. "Eradication of all mudbloods?" he asked, and then with a small smirk glanced over at the woman on the couch. The man immediately colored at the insinuation, and leaned back in his chair.

"My one weakness," the man seethed, and glared in Hermione's direction.

"Weakness? I see. I believe you told me the two of you were to be married?" Draco asked with something close to sadistic pleasure. Not that he would admit it to anyone, mind you.

"It's only a step in the process," Brandon assured Draco, still stiff in his chair.

"The process?" Draco asked.

Brandon began to relax. "The process," he repeated, before continuing, "My plan to completely break apart Hermione Granger into unrecognizable little pieces. The least I could do after what she did to my Lord."

"I see. But why her? She wasn't the only mudblood involved, you are aware," Draco asked with narrowed eyes. Inside his thoughts were spinning. So Granger was systematically broken down? That would have involved a lot of planning, time, and effort. Which naturally left the question of why. It had to have been something serious...

"Don't make the mistake of underestimating her involvement, Malfoy. She was the 'brains' of the Golden Trio. Potter wouldn't have lasted a minute without her aid," Brandon stated with a frown, and a spark in his eyes.

"You say that as if you were there," was Draco's response, as he folded his arms across his chest. Brandon had no response to that. As Draco thought, he hadn't been there. And he had. The two men stared at each other in silence for a few minutes until it was broken unwillingly by Brandon.

"I want her," the man confessed somewhat angrily. Draco was surprised, but not so. It would make more sense that Granger was being used for a personal vendetta, rather than a public one. Brandon continued. "I shouldn't. She's a filthy, disgusting Mudblood. Her very touch brings disease to my skin," he looked towards Hermione with distaste. Then his expression became weary, "I still do."

Suddenly becoming angry, he turned to Draco with a scowl on his face, "Why is it that someone so disgusting has to be so beautiful?" he asked desperately.

Draco took a second to think, before slowly responding, "Perhaps my Lord is testing your resolve?"

Brandon was silent for a long while after that, but soon a contentment gradually washed over his face. "Of course," he said softly to himself. "In any case," the man continued, "I am very nearly finished with her."

"Yes?" Draco asked.

Brandon nodded. "Would you like to hear how I did it?" the man's voice was full of pride as he began to gloat. Draco inclined his head in assent and Brandon grinned.

"Luring her into a false sense of security was ridiculously easy," he stated, and folding his hands behind his head continued, "She was so trustful. So willing to please. I merely pretended that I had a brother that was lost in the war, and that I was in search of him. While she scoured the countryside for him, I was the snake that whispered in her ear all of the words of comfort and security that she couldn't find anywhere else."

Brandon grinned. "Part of it, I know now, was Potter and Weasley's fault. Potter was too busy trying to escape the paparazzi, and to woe young Miss Weasley into marriage to spend much time looking after his friends. Weasley, the fool, dropped Hermione like a pound of bricks when he realized what gorgeous women had began to run after him now that he was famous. Hermione, typically, was left all alone struggling to create an honorable career for herself in solitude."

The man let out a content sigh. "Our relationship was never a romantic one- Hermione insisted that she wasn't looking for romance. Pretty soon a year had gone by, and I knew she trusted me. I pretended to weep over a grave, and gone was the search, but we remained close friends. When I offered a room and board in my house a few mere blocks from the Ministry I knew she wouldn't refuse. She had already started a job there, and was looking for an apartment anyways. Staying here would mean that she could save her money up to buy something larger and grander somewhere else."

Brandon crossed his legs. "The first few months were relatively okay. We lived in something close to harmony. I got angry and hit her a few times, but I fed her some lies about a broken family and she stayed. But it wouldn't last. I _wanted _her. I _needed _her," the man turned to Draco, and his face was raw with despair, and desire. "I couldn't pretend any longer. While she was sleeping I locked the windows and the doors with magic. I crept beside her bed stand, toke her wand, and snapped it."

His face became crazed. "She heard the snap, opened her eyes, and screamed," Brandon smiled, "I took her right there. In the middle of those screams. I bound her feet, and her wrists, and took her." He began to chuckle, and Draco had to fight to the feeling of revulsion and nausea that was threatening to overtake him.

"I kept her there for days, force feeding her with a spoon, and indulging myself over and over," the man had to surpress a shiver. "It was bliss. It wouldn't last, though. I realized what I had done. Who I had dirtied myself over. Who I had betrayed... I knew something had to be done. So I decided to punish her. To break her."

"She wasn't already broken?" Draco asked. He had to.

"No, there was still hope in those obnoxiously large eyes," Brandon replied, removing his hands from behind his hand only to put them on his lap. "I unbound her with the promise that if she tried anything I would kill her parents. She believed me, and waited, idle, for the appearance of her friends. So did I. They had forgotten her, but they couldn't forget her forever," the man supposed.

"I plotted. What would deter Potter and Weasley forever? What made them cringe in the middle of the night when they were safe in their beds?" Brandon asked with a smirk. "The Dark Lord, of course."

He sat up from the chair and walked over to Hermione casually. Draco had to stop himself from following them to act as a buffer between Granger and the man. But instead of hitting her still body, he picked up her left forearm and flashed it at Draco. Draco toke in a sharp breath of surprise. There was the Dark Mark, proud and black as night, hidden amongst the bruises. "The ultimate betrayal," Brandon announced proudly, before carelessly dropping the wrist and heading back to his seat.

"You put the Dark Mark on a muggle-born?" Draco seethed. Merlin. He could just imagine the chaos after Potter and Weasley saw that- the curses, the screams, and the vows of vengeance. Bloody Gryffindors. But that- putting a mark like that on someone like her? Someone with enough bloody self-righteous morality and humanity to fill a country? This man's sanity might be more questionable than he originally thought.

"Don't be angry!" Brandon held up his hands. Draco realized with disgust that the man thought he was angry in accordance to 'the cause'. "It was necessary. It was the only way to convince them without her testimony. Just imagine the blow this had on Weasley, on Potter. Don't you think it was worth it? Do you think I will be forgiven?" the man asked in desperation.

Draco forced himself to relax. "Continue," was all he said in a controlled tone.

Brandon sat nervously back in his seat. "Yes, well, with her friends gone it became easier to intimidate her. She became bitter, though, and sarcastic after awhile. Cheeky. I needed to show that I was capable of more than slapping a tatoo on her wrist," the man said, before continuing, "I killed her parents."

"You killed her parents," Draco repeated in disbelief, his tone almost monotone.

Brandon nodded. "It shut her up faster than you would believe. She cried for what seemed like forever, and then she was silent."

"She was finally broken?" Draco suggested, trying to bury his mounting anger.

The man let out a very irritated and terse, "No. She wasn't. She may have not spoken, but there was an insolence in her silence. She was mocking me by being unresponsive. I had no choice but to up my tactics."

Draco took a deep breath through his nose, and gestured that Brandon continue. He did. "What she needed was a constant reminder of the hopelessness. Not one single devastation at a time- it allowed her to recuperate I think. No. So I began to fuck her repeatedly. Enough to remind her that she would never fuck anyone else. But not to the point where she would feel wanted- no. She needed to be reminded that she was dirt. So I beat her too. It became a cycle, and slowly her eyes began to dim," the man stated, oddly impassive.

"She tried various attempts over the past couple of years to escape. They weren't hard to find- I just had to strip search her, her room, and the house every couple of weeks. The latest one was only successful because I had become unusually careless, and forgot to lock our doors before I went to sleep. I made the mistake of assuming that she would stay unconscious. Not a mistake I will be liable to make again, I think," he finished, he face an odd combination of a look of contemplation and a leer.

Draco tried to process all of this, but his brain refused to cooperate. Granger... Sweet Merlin. No wonder she was the way she was. She had been, for all intensive purposes, raped, beaten, threatened, tortured, accused, and forgotten in the last two years. Plus God only knows what else... "The engagement ring?" Draco asked through a forced breath.

"Just another reminder that she will never escape. I forced it on her while threatening to kill her friends," Brandon stated.

"You said you were almost finished with her?" Draco asked, and not without a small amount of trepidation.

The man nodded. "I just need to find a place to put the body-" Brandon wasn't even able to finish before Draco cursed him with immobilization. He found he was shaking, he was so angry- maybe he did care.

Walking over to Granger, Draco prodded the girl's shoulder gently. Her eyes opened warily, and curiously blank. He took her hand and helped her out of the couch. Looking back at the man with disgust Draco sent a leviatation spell his way, and with both in tow, marched back to the ministry.

He arrived about an half and hour before the ministry officially opened- late enough that there was a few wizards and witches just beginning to trickle through, all heading towards the elevator shafts in a great herd. Draco followed them with an expression of death.

A few people stopped and watched them curiously, others glanced back every few minutes to stare. Draco ignored them all, and it wasn't long until he found himself in the Department of Law Enforcement.


End file.
